The Levi At Levi's
by CCAlxndr
Summary: Eren leads a simple life. He paints, goes to his few art classes, and helps Mikasa with her Paints & Crafts store and with taking care of Armin. But when Eren just needs new jeans, he meets a short man that ends up appearing everywhere... And with him, that crazy lady that wants denim paint, and her tall friend that pays more attention to Armin than him, what is a man to do? Ereri.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Any recognizable characters or situations (or anything, really) do not belong to me. I've totally stolen the plot, though, so it's completely new, and what's mine is mine. Any use of the Levi's brand is not for profit, so it's basically free advertisement. Be happy.

 **AN:** This is the edited version of a little thingy that's been slowly getting written. The original first chapter was around this length, but I used the first half, lengthened it and just used that. It's still very short though, sadly. The rest just didn't work with this section. Also, for those who've read Not So Bad After All, this won't be in that world. Similar scenes might work themselves in, though. No promises…. Ah…. one more thing. Don't expect regular updates. Just don't. Sorry, but my writing fluctuates like crazy. That being said, I appreciate reviews! They let me know what's good or bad, or what readers want to see. Regardless, here's the prologue.

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Eren's POV

The pitter patter of the rain becomes muted as the door to Levi's Jeans swings shut behind me. The tinkling of the bell above the door is the sole replacement, not even strands of music floating from the speakers in the ceiling. Sighing in relief at the protection from the fierce rain, I glance around the store. It's rather empty, and I'm only able to spot the cashier talking to a single client, though another customer might be hidden from view among the shelves neatly stuffed with denim. Then again, it's close to closing time, and most people probably time their purchases better.

What I need is simple in theory, but unfortunately it's not quite so easy in real life. My waist size is around 31 inches, which gives me a jeans size of 30. What sucks, though, is that my long legs tend to screw up jeans in that size. I need an inseam, or pant leg length of what's typically found one or two sizes larger instead- and so, after a few minutes of poking around the racks, I end up going to the cashier to avoid wasting too much time searching.

The other customer must have left a while ago, for the cashier is reading his book in calm silence. It was probably his decision to keep the music off- business doesn't seem to be doing well today, and I can already see a frown becoming more pronounced as my footsteps announce a customer in need of his help. I stop by the register, and wait. It takes a few moments, but the man sighs, places a bookmark in and closes the book. He has an air of suffering about him, as if he'd rather be anywhere else than here. I refuse to let that drive me away, and only let my eyes flicker over the tattoos peeking out from under his collar for a quick moment.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for slim jeans in size 30, but I need an inseam of 32 or 33 inches. I checked the shelves, but found nothing." My accent, a mix of German and Japanese, causes the cashier to quirk an eyebrow, but he's tactful enough to not mention it- or he simply can't be bothered.

"I'll check the back, follow me," he replies curtly, then slides from his chair and moves around the counter. Taken aback slightly by how short he actually is, I obey. He doesn't seem to be enjoying himself very much, I'd say, but it's not really any of my business. He disappears behind a door marked 'Storeroom- Employees Only', and so I wait patiently, quietly humming a song I heard a little while ago. Luckily, it doesn't take long, and soon two folded jeans are practically thrown in my face when the door opens.

"Um, sir, I only need one-" I begin, but he cuts me off in a rough voice.

"I brought two. The top has an inseam of 32, the bottom has 33. I'd suggest going with the bottom, but try them both on just in case." That surprises me a bit, but I thank him as he directs me to the changing rooms. Slipping out of my boots and pants, I lay my raggedy jeans on the stool. I mourn them for a few moments, but it's not like I'm throwing them away. The problem is with the paint splatters- I've had to pick paint off them after washing them, and I've just decided to keep them as my painting jeans.

 _That man has good eyes._ The bottom ones do indeed fit me better, and as I get dressed again I mull over getting a black pair as well. I've only got one pair aside from my painting jeans, and it's getting too light for my tastes. Mikasa insists on washing it more often than necessary, and it's showing. Heading out of the changing room, I find the cashier typing away on his phone, though he stows it away soon after I emerge. Putting the top jeans in his outstretched hand, I thank him, and ask for another pair of the bottom size, but in black. He nods, and I'm left to the silence again as he goes back to the storeroom. _I wonder if the store is always so empty…?_ Usually there are enough customers to keep such personalized service from happening, unless there are helpers. With that, my thoughts wander off as I wait.

Once he appears again, we head back to the cash register, and I'm surprised at how late it's gotten. The store windows are still wet, but the clouds have mostly drifted off, giving a clear view to the darkening sky. As I sigh, relieved that at least my way home will be dry, the man rings up my purchases. His hands fly over the keys, and in moments my new jeans are in a plastic bag on the counter. I pay, and thank the man again, glancing at his name tag, where 'Levi' is written in spiky letters. I try to keep my amusement from showing, but some of it must have slipped through. He just looks at me, as if wanting to snap at me, but then nods in a not-unfriendly way.

As I head out the door, I hear a little buzzing sound, and the red lighting from the logo above the door shuts off. I check my watch, realizing it's 5 minutes past 6- in other words, 5 minutes past closing time. Turning my head back to the door even as I start walking, I meet the man's eyes through the glass. He stands next to the door, watching from that silent store. I wave. Again, he doesn't respond immediately, but his hand raises in a wave, if somewhat hesitantly. A smile makes its way across my face, and I nod, before turning away and walking slowly home.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** refer back to the Prologue. That was the one and only in this fic.

 **AN:** Alright, here's the official first chapter! I decided to turn the other into the prologue so the story flows a bit better. Also, I've changed the rating to T. It'll probably work its way up to M, but I'll give a warning a few chapters ahead of that. Anyways, this is still very short, and I do hope to lengthen my chapters. That'll take some time though, so in the meantime, I'm afraid this will have to do. Thank you for reading!

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Eren's POV

The door to my apartment swings shut behind me. As I slip my shoes off, I greet Mikasa, who appears in the doorway to the kitchen. She holds out a pot and a kitchen towel, and gets right down to business. "Yes hello Eren, I need you to help dry off the pots from dinner. Armin is coming back from Jean's house soon, and I want everything clean again by that time." I drop the plastic bag next to my shoes and groan.

I know not to argue with her, though all I want to do is go to my room and play some video games. "Fine Mikasa," I reply. "I need you to wash those jeans for me though, I need them for class tomorrow." I take the pot out of her hands and get to work, putting everything back in its place when I'm done. Mikasa works quickly, getting the small washing machine started before returning just in time to catch me as I leave the kitchen.

She reaches her hand out, touching my shoulder. I stop walking, turning to face her so she can read my lips should she need to. Mikasa can't hear properly, as a result from the car accident that killed her parents only a few years ago. She hates using a hearing aid, though, and as such leaves it out whenever she's home. I strain to hear her as she begins to speak- she has some problems with volume control, and tends to be too quiet or louder than necessary. "Eren, when Armin comes back, can you talk to him? He's not seeming well lately. He doesn't want to talk to me."

I listen, a bit surprised. Armin is usually fine with Mikasa- if he doesn't want to talk to her about it, it could be pretty serious. Even I've noticed that he's looking stressed and unhappy more often than usual lately, and I tend to be rather oblivious. I nod, making sure to keep my voice evenly pitched. "Don't worry Mikasa, I will do my best." She looks relieved, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Sighing, I head into the room I share with Armin. It's pretty small, but I insist we call it cozy instead. Armin, ever the realist, almost smacked me in the face with the book he was reading when I first corrected him, but it's become something of a joke between us now. I plop down on the couch that faces the TV at the foot of my bed, pulling my textbook on painting styles toward me in a small attempt to get ideas for my next project. It fails as expected, and only a short time passes before I give up. Grabbing a controller instead, I boot up the TV and get ready to shoot some zombies.

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It's about half an hour later when I hear Armin's declaration of "I'm home, Mikasa", and I pause the game while I still can. Standing up and stretching, I make my way to the front door, where Armin is pulling off his boots.

"What's up, Armin?" I ask, leaning against the wall. Mikasa pops up behind me, then moves forward to hug Armin when he stands up. As he sighs tiredly, I examine his face. He's got bags under his eyes and his hair is a bit more disheveled than usual. Though that could just be a sign of a good time with Jean, his posture says otherwise as he slumps against Mikasa.

"Armin, I've already prepared dinner. You need to eat, you're getting too skinny. Stop stressing yourself out with all that studying," Mikasa scolds. Armin ducks his head, but follows her obediently to the kitchen when she releases him. I let them pass by, but catch Armin's hand once Mikasa's gone through the doorway.

"Hey man, we've gotta talk. I'm worried 'bout you, alright? But go eat dinner first- Mikasa's right, you know. I'll be in our room," I say, speaking softly and looking him in the eyes. He nods, then looks at the floor and follows after Mikasa.

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Armin must have taken his time with dinner, but he couldn't keep our talk away forever. He slips into our room and turns his sign from red to green, then closes the door. He patiently waits for a few minutes, reading one of his textbooks until I get to a place where I can pause. When I finally do, we both put everything else away and face each other, sitting in silence until I speak.

"Look, Armin. I'm not trying to guilt you or anything, or make you feel horrible or whatever. Just- look, man, I'm here for you. Whatever is troubling you, I'll listen. You can tell me everything, alright?"

He nods, but still looks unsure. I don't pressure him any further, though- Armin needs time to put words to his emotions. Indeed, after a few moments he finally speaks up. "I mean, it's nothing much. I promise, Eren," he adds after seeing the look on my face. "It's just, I'm not entirely sure how to handle it. Jean's been talking to Marco more and more lately- I get that they're best friends, and that Jean's scared of losing Marco, but it's like he never spends time alone with me now. I'm probably just being an attention seeker, but I thought that's what boyfriends are for, right? They take care of you and make you feel better and stop your worrying, but…. It hasn't felt like that lately."

Gazing at the fan rotating on the ceiling, I listen attentively until Armin begins to wind down. He's uncomfortable with people watching him when he starts talking like this, and so when i finally do turn my eyes back to him it's only a bit of a surprise that his eyes are tearing up. I know how much Jean means to him- I definitely don't get along well with him, but if he makes Armin happy, then it's the least I can do to put up with him. Now, though….

I sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that, Armin. I wish I knew what to do, but we both know I know about as much about relationships as a dragonfly knows about breathing fire. Thank you for talking to me, though- are you feeling better?"

Nodding, he replies, "Yeah. Thank you for being here for me regardless of everything, Eren." He leans forward and hugs me, and just like that our little talk is over. Now that he's talked to me, I know he can get through this- when he really needs advice, he usually talks it through with me, then goes to someone who can help.

For now, though, he'll be wanting to get his mind off it, so I hand him another controller and exit the game I was playing. He smiles, knowing how much I hate having to do that, and makes up for it by thoroughly beating the zombies' asses in the next couple of rounds.


	3. Chapter 2

**AN:** This wait has been ridiculously and inexcusably long. I apologize, and can rattle off several reasons, but I'll only explain three. One, classes have seriously monopolized my time; two, the meds I've been taking have fucked me up to the point I apparently need to stop taking them, the mental side effects are that bad; and three, the relationship that inspired this fic is over and it hurt. Honestly, this is a prime example of what I meant when I said that my writing fluctuates, though usually it's not quite this extreme.

Now, this chapter has been worked on at multiple times when I was in different moods and with different levels of inspirations, so I apologize for this extremely choppy writing. It is a tad bit longer than the other chapters, though, and I still do plan on making them longer in the future. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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I sigh, staring at the canvas with an expression akin to frustration. The colors meld beautifully, blue stained with grey darkening into slate in the dull shadows. The tree bark swirls intricately with miniscule patterns, providing a stark contrast to the even stitches in the denim. A frown forms on my face, though, because something still feels missing, other than the still white boots of course. My professor hasn't been any help either, for he'd only given instructions to paint a close up and refuses to say anything more- he hasn't even clarified if it should depict a living or nonliving subject, something he is wont to do.

I hum thoughtfully, the near silence of Mikasa's store giving me the peace I need to paint. Dipping my brush into the dark splotch on my palette, I mix in a few drops of my slate mixture and begin darkening in the outline of the boots. I make sure to stay away from the edges, since some of them will be just barely catching the last few sun rays. It doesn't take long until I can begin layering more slate and even some grey into the shoes, but I keep the shoelaces half-hidden in shadow.

The painting seems boring when viewed from far away. A pair of boots attracts the viewer's attention, which is then led upward by the flair of the boot cut jeans. There isn't much else to look at otherwise, for only tree bark and a little bit of earth can be seen in the background.

The real image can only be seen if one stands closely in front of the painting. It's only then that the eye can pick out the subtle shifts in the shadows under the denim as it hangs over the boots, only then can the tree bark seem to shift as the eyes follow the curling lines and only then can the denim stitches seem to be marching on railroad tracks as they lead up and out of the painting.

It's still not enough. I run my hand through my hair, being sure not to smear paint into it. A clear sense of dissatisfaction curls in my stomach, and I'm tempted to just walk around the store. I gaze at the paint slowly drying for a few moments, then practically dump my palette on the counter and fling myself off the chair.

I'm not handling this too well right now. Usually, painting is easy, it takes away the stress and lets my mind just focus on it, keeping away the stupid thoughts of rent and uni and stupid, stupid idiots hurting my friends. I rub my face, sighing again as I feel a fleck of paint get caught on the ridge of my nose. I can't even stay clean. For some reason, this just tips the bucket of stupidity I feel like at the moment, and I feel like punching the wall nearest to me. This is all so stupid, so pathetic- who even cares at this point? I can't get anything done and my art looks like crap; I literally can't afford to fail any of my classes.

Of course, I don't go further than lightly slapping the wall- Mikasa would kill me. The roughness of the brick pricks my hand, though, and I pull my hand back, shaking it slightly. A grim smile flits across my face, dropping the second I hear the bell above the door chime the arrival of a potential customer. A cheerful smile pops up instead, and I head to the front of the store from the laps I'd been pacing near the back.

"Hello, welcome to Mikasa's Arts and Crafts! How can I help you today?" My voice rings out over the shelves with neatly stacked products, gaining the attention of the brunette who just walked in. She moves slowly, turning her head to gaze down each aisle before finally looking at me. Her glasses shine in the light of the store, drawing attention to the face framed by oval glasses.

"Good morning!" she replies cheerfully, smiling and waving. I'm a bit taken aback; just a few moments ago she looked almost as if she were hunting something down, but now she's as cheery as can be- though perhaps I shouldn't be talking. "I'm looking for fabric paint, well, I'm really just searching for something that works on denim. I'm not sure what would work best, since I don't know anything about painting, so I'd appreciate some recommendations," she answers, turning her head to the side to peek around the store again.

Nodding, I think to myself, _okay, I got this._ I'm usually not the best with customers, because I keep thinking I'll scare them off or something, but Mikasa had to attend some meeting with the landlord. I hope it works out alright…. But no, right now I need to focus. Giving my head a slight shake, I wave for the woman to follow me.

"Alright, so there are fabric paints, as you mentioned. They work well with most types of fabric, including denim." We're in the paints section now, and I can see her eyes darting over the pretty large selection we have. I'm actually proud of this, and my smile becomes more truthful. "Now, there are also textile mediums you can mix with acrylics, but I definitely don't suggest that, the results usually are pretty sucky compared with the actual fabric paint." I chuckle slightly, and don't miss the slight smirk on the woman's face.

"Is there a special process or something with fabric paints? Certain instructions, or anything?" she asks, and I can't hide my surprise.

"Actually, there is- ma'am, are you sure you don't know anything about paints?" I can't help but question.

She grins in reply, shifting her glasses back up her nose from where they'd been slipping down. "It's simply predictable, after all, special materials often require special care," she explains in an amused tone. Blinking, I shrug. She's a got a point, after all.

After a few more moments, I stop, gesturing to the various paints lined up on the shelves. "Here we are! Fabrics paints are right here, and applicators and brushes are in the next aisle to the right. If you want to try things out on a canvas first, they're behind the brushes. Just ask me first, I've got some messy canvases in the back in case you want to check something now. Also, various kits are to the left, along with some general cleaning supplies that are good for getting rid of paint splatters. Is that all for now?" She nods, and so I finish off with, "Alright, just call if you need anything, I'll be in the front."

"Thank you," she replies, smiling. She looks intrigued as she moves to the nearest rack, and I congratulate myself as I head up front to the cash register. I didn't stumble over my words or anything! My happiness fades a bit as I notice a light bulb flickering overhead; I bleedin' hate it when that happens. I can't concentrate when the damn things do that, so I resign myself to replacement duty.

A few minutes later and a new light bulb is in, giving off a steady warm light. Much better. I sigh in relief, then- "Excuse me? Mister?" the woman calls out, and I almost fall off the stepladder. She was so quiet, I'd forgotten she was there. Stepping down and hoping she didn't see that, I turn to face her.

"Did you find everything you need, ma'am?" I inquire politely.

"I sure did, thank you, Mr….?" She trails off, evidently waiting for my name.

"Oh, uh, Jaeger, I mean uh, Eren, just call me Eren, yeah, that…." I grin sheepishly, still not used to the jolt of panic that comes from my last name.

"Alright, Eren, I found some that I think I'll be able to use, but I'm not entirely sure if I should take all the colors I want yet. This is actually for a project my coworker hasn't exactly approved of, but if I can convince him it works, I'm hoping he'll agree to it," she explained, a smirk stealing its way across her face. It makes me slightly nervous, but as long as it's not my business, I won't care.

"Let me take a look at what you have in mind," I suggest, and we walk to the fabric paints again.

She points out the brand that I'd personally use, and I nod approvingly. "So I just don't really know what colors would work best? I mean, I'm not entirely sure what I'm even going to do with it, I just want it to work on denim…." She pushes her glasses up, not finishing her sentence. It's pretty clear she's out of her element here, and I take pity on her.

"Well, if you'd like, I can always paint a small example piece for your coworker? Just give me a week and some details you have in mind, and I'll see what I can do?" I'm not entirely sure what in the world possesses me to say this, but she seems nice enough and actually means what she says…. To the limited extent that I can tell, at least, but that's good enough for me at the moment.

She blinks in surprise. "Wait. What? You'd actually do that?"

"Well, I mean, I just thought you could use some help with this," I say slightly awkwardly, leaning backward a little. I'm really not the best in situations like this, and I mentally curse myself. Holding on to the cold metal of the supply shelf, I give myself a moment to focus on the feeling before fully tuning into the conversation again.

"I- Well yes, I really could, and I definitely appreciate your offer!" She smiles, practically lighting up before deflating a little. "But wait, you seem pretty young, are you only a student?"

"Uh…." I'm unsure about basically telling this random lady this much, but eh, at this point my life is screwed up anyways. "Actually yeah, I go to Shiganshina Uni, even though I'm only taking a few art classes. I've got some bigger projects at the moment, but I know I'll be able to find some time for a quick piece," I say, trying to be reassuring.

The woman looks at me earnestly. "I'd feel bad if you just did some work like that, let's see about getting paid when it's done? Just don't put too much effort into this, alright, it's just something to convince my coworker." I nod, though on the inside I'm already planning out a few ideas. If I can get paid for this, I could actually properly help with the rent this month.

As if on cue, the bell above the door rings, and Mikasa announces her presence with a call of "Eren, get over here and help me with the boxes!" Hastily, I excuse myself, and run over to Mikasa.

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It takes a few minutes, and I've picked up my painting again, feeling well enough to actually get something done. After a couple of moments, the bell on the counter rings, and I head over, since Mikasa's still busy in the back.

The woman is drawing something out on a little pad of paper, a couple of small sketches accompanied by notes in tiny, slanted handwriting that spills all over the page. "Alright, so I've just jotted down some ideas, and here at the top-" she pauses to underline two or three lines "-I've just written out what the main goal is, and if you have any questions, just email me here." She writes out her email as she says it, and I'm slightly amused by the simultaneously professional and silly name.

"That, ah, wouldn't happen to be your real name, would it?" I ask, slightly nervously. Hanjee Zozo, that would be an interesting one to explain to Mikasa….

Laughing, she shakes her head. "I'm Hanji Zoë, it's a rather old email of mine named after an inside joke with my coworker, the same one I'm trying to convince, actually." I laugh, too. Anyone who has an email named after an inside joke is alright in my book. I mean, hell, I have one too, from years spent with Armin. "I really should head out though," she says, looking surprised as she glances at her watch, a slim thing with soft-looking leather straps. There's some sort of pattern on the watch face, but she moves her wrist before I can properly see.

"I'm glad I could help, and if anything comes up, just reply to the email I'll send your way in a few minutes." I smile at her, pocketing the slip of paper when she gives it to me. I'm starting to get excited about this, and who knows, maybe it'll even break me out of the artistic slump I've been in for the past few weeks.

Waving, she heads out of the store, and I take a moment to read through her notes. "Something simple - leaves? levi likes leaves - green is good - on regular denim, but a fancy version on white if possible? - are details even possible with fabric paint?" They're just ideas scribbled down, the way I often do before starting a project, and I hum thoughtfully as I make my way to the back.

I should be able to do this pretty easily. Fabric paint definitely isn't one of my preferred mediums, but I can work with it enough to get this done. Maybe if I can do this well enough, the lady- no, Ms Zoë, I remind myself- might even like it to the point she'll ask me to do another piece. If I can get some money, I can help out Mikasa, and that takes some degree of priority over my current, stagnating projects.

Of course, I can't over do it, but if this works out…. Thoughts swirling around in my head, I track down Mikasa, who has moved to the displays in the front without me noticing. "Heeeey, Mikasaaaaaaa," I sigh tiredly, draping an arm over her shoulder when she turns to me. She probably overheard the end of my conversation with Ms Zoë, but it's best if I explain it to her ful- oh dear. Oh dear. Maybe I should have waited until Armin was next to me to support me, since I know he would, and the look Mikasa is giving me is only a single step away from being a glare…. Oops.


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